


Hollow Hills

by BlaiddDrwg1982



Series: The Hollow Hills [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Hollows - Kim Harrison
Genre: 80 years after the Turn, Demon Derek Hale, Earth Magic, Elf Stiles Stilinski, Eventual Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Future Fic, Humans Never Went to the Moon, M/M, Not a standard elf, Not the standard type of demon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rosewood Survivor Derek, The Hollows/Teen Wolf Fusion Fic, ley lines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-23 17:45:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13792851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlaiddDrwg1982/pseuds/BlaiddDrwg1982
Summary: Derek is a survivor of a rare genetic condition called Rosewood Syndrome which leaves him as one of the growing number of Day-walking Demons, able to exist on either side of the Ley Lines, and the ability to twist spells of unthinkable power. Which he uses to run a modest Charms shop in Beacon Hills, and volunteer





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaneErikaBrady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneErikaBrady/gifts).



> I will explain things from both The Hollows series and Teen Wolf as needed for anyone who is reading from either fandom. If it is something that requires a LOT more explanation than I can do in the narrative, I'll leave (and warn) extensive end of chapter notes. Case in point, some definitions you may want at the end of this chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

Derek sat on the bench in the window of the small charms shop he had opened when he moved back to Beacon Hills after finishing his degree in Cincinnati. While he could have gotten part of his degree in San Francisco, his education would not have been truly complete. At 80 years post Turn, and 40 years past Revelation, there were still only a small number of schools that would give him the training he needed to reach his full potential. The business degree was a bonus of the double major. 

Looking down at his driver’s licence and the Species Designation being marked DD, he couldn’t help but smile. Daywalking Demon. Archaic since all Demons could now exist on both sides of the Ley Lines, but it was still a measure of pride. He was one of the first Rosewood survivors who had been born with his genome fixed. He didn’t want to know how much money his parents spent as at the time of his birth, that genetic engineering was still highly illegal, even now it wasn’t wise to seek out. It was a public, and ill guarded secret, who you had to contact for the gene therapy, but most major insurance policies would cover treatment these days, even if it were technically illegal.

It may have had something to do with the fact there was now an entire group of children being born of the Rosewood Survivors that were starting to turn up and the Demon population was starting to expand. Trent Kalamack, with his power and influence among the new Elven Dewar had managed to quell any consideration of renewing hostilities with either the Ancient Demons (designated AD on their driver’s licences) or their offspring. Kalamack’s spouse was a Daywalker, like Derek was so that may have been a factor.

Looking out the window as the rain pelted the glass, Derek watched the flickering lights in the distance. It was a pretty major storm coming through, which he needed. Rain water collected after midnight in the first storm after the vernal equinox was a hot commodity for witches looking to do some spring time potions and amulets. He himself had plans for a gallon or so of the stuff, and had hundreds of prepared vessels on his roof just waiting for midnight to hit. They were under a very tightly set protection bubble. Were he a simple witch he wouldn’t be able to hold the circle for as long as he needed to keep the vessels clean. Good thing he wasn’t just a witch.

Taking a sip of his tea, he heard the clock behind his cash desk chime that it was midnight, and the crash of thunder that rattled the windows was a sign that a downpour was imminent. As the rain drops started falling harder, he pulled back the energy he was pushing into the protective circle on his roof, and let the energy flow through him, back to the ley line that ran almost directly in front of his store.

The streets were fairly quiet, which wasn’t too surprising. No one in their right mind really wanted to be braving the weather on a night like these. Even the most adventurous of the Inderlanders tended to stay indoors on nights like this. That unfortunately also meant that Derek would probably be having the quietest work day of the week today. While that wouldn’t often be a bad thing, the fact it was after midnight, but before sun up, meant he couldn’t even do spell casting. Not with the moon in the phase it was right now. Might as well stir a spell counterclockwise if he was aiming for suicide by misaligned spell.

Seeing movement in the darkness, he felt his brow furrow. That wasn’t expected. Grabbing the fifteen inch long stick of redwood, it was a wand he had crafted himself. They were only able to be infused with a single spell, but given he was a Demon running a charms shop, this one was sensitized to an immobilizing stasis spell in case of shop lifters. While not 100% legal, it also wasn’t completely illegal, and it was a white spell rather than the more gruesome black magic spell so there was something to be glad about as well. 

Watching the figure come running through the door, Derek immediately muttered his word of invocation to close a circle around the figure who collapsed on the floor panting, and by the looks of things, bleeding from a gun shot wound in his shoulder.

“He’s dead. It’s missing.”

Derek’s brow furrowed in frustration.

“Who’s dead?”

“David. The Focus. It’s missing.”

Derek knew about the Focus. Every Inderlander knew about the focus. Rachel Morgan had even come an reluctantly been the guest lecturer about the curse that was used to move the Focus to and from a person and how she’d been able to survive it despite not being a Were herself. She’d moved it into a friend of hers. A Werewolf name David who was, among other things, an insurance agent.

And now, he was apparently dead and the Focus was, again, apparently missing.

“Who are you?”

The crumpled man looked up at Derek and before he could say anything, his eyes rolled up in his head. 

Sighing softly to himself, he touched the protection barrier to collapse it, but instead of letting the line energy drop from himself he spindles it like he’d been taught by his Demon mentor, to keep on hand in case he needs to protect himself. 

The scent of the other man’s blood hits him. Cinnamon and wine. The slightly tapered ears were another sign. His colouring was darker than most, but that didn’t change the simple fact.

“Elf.”

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Okay Elf. If you wake up while I'm doing this, I want you to know that I'm not looking to cop a cheap feel. You barged into my store bleeding and rambling and something tells me with that wound in your shoulder you don't really want police or ambulances so don't freak out."
> 
> Cutting the shirt open, Derek made sure to not disturb the charms that were pressed against his skin. Blushing guiltily as his eyes traced the definition in the man's chest, he shook his head and focussed on the task at hand. Trying to ignore the clatter of wings moving down the hall, the glowing ball of pixy rounded the corner muttering under her breath about the insanity of people being awake at this hour. Looking up at Iris, he indicated the unconscious man.

Derek had flipped the sign on the store front and pulled the shades. It was still an hour from when he usually closed, but the weather wasn't letting up and he had a bleeding unconscious Elf, literally in this sense, in the front of his store. He'd sheathed his wand, not expecting to have to use it grabbed one of the charms he made for living vampires to keep their blood supply up, and invoked it. Looping the charm around the unconscious man's neck, he grabbed a pain relief one and one to promote clotting in the open wound. Invoking them both he added them to the other man before tucking some gauze around the wound, and lifting him onto his shoulders. Derek stumbled for a moment to catch his balance. The other man was heavier than he anticipated. Shifting him to get a grip, Derek felt tightly coiled muscles beneath the baggy shirt. 

This guy was full of surprises.

Heading up the stairs to the apartment above, he elbowed on the lights and set the man down on his sofa. Derek decided he'd worry about the blood on the couch later. Silently going to his bathroom he pulled out a mundane first aid kit. He had a few friends who were human who didn't always feel comfortable with him using his magic to fix their injuries. Being in a mixed rugby league with humans, witches, elves and demons did leave a lot of people bruised. But that was also the sport itself, not necessarily the mixed company. Pulling the table over he opened the kit and pulled out the scissors.

"Okay Elf. If you wake up while I'm doing this, I want you to know that I'm not looking to cop a cheap feel. You barged into my store bleeding and rambling and something tells me with that wound in your shoulder you don't really want police or ambulances so don't freak out."

Cutting the shirt open, Derek made sure to not disturb the charms that were pressed against his skin. Blushing guiltily as his eyes traced the definition in the man's chest, he shook his head and focussed on the task at hand. Trying to ignore the clatter of wings moving down the hall, the glowing ball of pixy rounded the corner muttering under her breath about the insanity of people being awake at this hour. Looking up at Iris, he indicated the unconscious man.

"Hubba hubba. Good catch Derek."

Growling under his breath he wasn't put off with the fact she just laughed at him. 

"He staggered in with a gun shot wound Iris. What was I supposed to do?"

Flying in closer to take a look, he smiled at the appraising look she gave the Elf. Flying in closely, she took a long sniff of him before moving to his wound.

"He's an elf alright. Pure blood from the smell of him. Genome fixed while he was developing. Kinda like you. Not a heavy magic smell either. He probably knows just enough to get himself in trouble, and thereby bring it to your front door."

Derek sighed, nodding his head. Elves were enjoying a resurgence in their populations over the last 40 years for the same reason more children were surviving Rosewood syndrome these days. The pixy flew backwards, shedding a clear dust. She wasn't too concerned about him, but flew off to the computer they kept in his home office. He didn't know how she did what she did, but she was the best research assistant he'd ever have. He knew she'd be looking for a pixy buck in the next year or so to start having a family, but for now, she was content overseeing his rooftop garden and watching his back when he needed it. 

Running a gentle finger around the edge of the wound, he reached into the first aid kit and pulled out another charm. Poking his finger and massaging the needed three drops of blood, the redwood smell blossomed, followed very closely by an antiseptic scent that was heavy with tea tree oil. This was the charm he wrote part of this final papers on, having spent years trying to perfect the medical class 2 charm. His charms license qualified him to make medical charms, but it wasn't something he did often. Regulating them and cost for creating them was a huge expense and not much return on investment. One of the nearby clinics bought them from him in bulk so he did have a supply of them on hand when he needed them as well. 

Shifting to his second sight to see if there was anything concerning in the other man's Aura, he saw that it was starting to lighten up. He was waking up slowly, the charms reducing the effects of shock. Applying a fresh bandage to the gunshot wound, he tucked a blanket on him just to keep him warm. Sitting back to sit in one of the arm chairs, Derek dropped his second sight as the other man's eyes slowly blinked open. 

To say he was expressive was an understatement. Every thought crossed his face in rapid succession from concern, to fear, to annoyance, and sliver of embarrassment at his state of undressed, and one of marvel. Understanding came quickly after when he saw the charms looped around his neck touching his skin. Looking up with a start, it was like he just now recognized that there was another person in the room. Groaning slightly at the shot of pain that arrived when he tried to shift his injured arm, the other man sat back on the couch, resigned to the fact he wasn't going to be moving anytime soon.

"Sorry about this."

Derek shrugged and kept his expression guardedly neutral.

"Not entirely your fault unless I miss my guess," he indicated the gunshot wound.

"Well. Sometimes I like shooting myself and running through the rain. It's a fetish."

Derek fought to suppress the little grin that threatened to make its appearance. If he was joking around it couldn't be too bad.

"I have a spell I can do for you to heal that so you don't scar. Didn't want to just...spring it on you when you were asleep. That would end badly."

The other man narrowed his gaze just a little.

"Witch Charm?"

Derek shook his head. He wasn't going to lie about his nature.

"Demon Curse."

The other man went a little pale at that. There were still a lot of cultural gaps they'd have to bridge. What was in Derek's favour more than likely was the distinct lack of smell of burnt amber. Nodding his head tentatively, Derek got to his feet and moved towards the couch slowly. Taking his hand, Derek closed his eyes and reached out to the Line in front of his shop. Letting the power flow through him, he let the power in and out strike a balance. Opening his mind to the Demon Collective, he found the registered spell and mentally invoked it. It was a Curse solely by the fact it was Demonic in nature. There was no imbalance for using it as the spell itself was designed to restore a body to it's natural state of wholeness, rather than putting a major twist on nature. 

The other man gasped at the flare of burning that bled through the charms, but relaxed quickly. There was a tiny scent of burnt amber that lingered in the air, but a sudden snap of ozone took care of that. Derek took his seat across from the now healthy looking man, even if he was just a little pale. 

"Derek."

"Stiles."

Derek's eyebrow twitched.

"My legal name is a lot harder to pronounce. Trust when I say Stiles is a lot easier."

"Fair enough. So. Stiles. What brought you crashing through the doors of 'Hale and Well Met' just after midnight when good Elves are usually taking their 10pm to 2am naps?"

Now that Stiles was out of the woods, Derek was a little more pointed. He'd have to likely close for a day or two to get the smell of blood out of the store and apartment so he didn't have to risk one of his Living Vampire customers having to fight their instincts. It would be a loss of revenue to put it mildly. He'd make some of that up with the rain water he was gathering on the roof, but he'd be lucky to break even for the week because of it.

Stiles at least had the decency to duck his head and flinch a little. There was some measure of accusation in his voice and he didn't really care.

"I got shot and needed to find a charm shop to get some first aid supplies. I didn't exactly anticipate passing out if that's what you're asking."

"Why did you get shot."

"Why do you want to know?"

"I need to know if anyone is going to be coming by looking to cause me trouble. I get enough headaches from people who aren't thrilled with the fact a Demon is living in the neighbourhood, despite the fact I'm a legal citizen AND was born on this side of the Lines. I need to know if I'm going to have HAPA or one of those anti-Inderlander groups coming after me, or even if the Dewar is going to come looking."

Stiles shook his head at all of the issues he was raising. 

"HAPA isn't the issue. The issue is that David Hue, formerly of the Black Dandelion Pack of Ohio, has passed away. There were several other Alphas out there hoping the power of the Focus would pass along to one of them. The members of his Pack don't have it, and Ms. Morgan is denying knowing where it is. The Dewar wants to try and claim it, the Demons want it back to bury in the Ever After and the Vamps want to destroy it. The last time this thing was in the wind it was bad."

Derek nodded, remembering reading about it in his modern history class.

"So. The Dewar?"

"Won't really take no for an answer."

"The gun shot?"

"Don't honestly know. I'm sorry for bringing this to you Derek. I'll get out of your hair right away."

"Wait!"

Stiles paused as he was lifting himself off the couch, marvelling at the distinct lack of pain in his arm, and even a few of the twinges from lacrosse when he was a teenager seemed to have dissipated. Looking at Derek expectantly, he pulled his shirt closed.

"It isn't safe out there for you right now Stiles. Whoever shot you could be waiting until you're alone. I have a guest room at the back that can be circled. You can get some rest. It won't keep out a pissed off Demon, but it can keep you safe from a gun wielding maniac."

"How big's the circle?"

"A little over 9 feet."

Stiles eyes went a little wide at that. He could hold, maybe a five foot circle. Six if he was properly motivated."

"I can't hold that big on my own."

Derek nodded and shrugged.

"I can circle the building then."

At that Stiles' eyes just about bugged out of his head.

"How can you hold something that large?"

"I have a few charms in the brick work of the building, and a few amplifiers that fill in the gaps. I can usually hold about 12 feet or so fairly easily without help, as long as I'm not sick or injured. I have a familiar so that helps too."

Stiles sat back down and thought it over before nodding.

"Don't suppose you have anything I can wear considering you went scissor happy on my shirt."

Derek rolled his eyes and got to his feet. Padding into his bedroom, he toed off his shoes and went to his dresser. Pulling out a grey henley, he came and tossed it at Stiles' head.

"For the record when I told you what I was doing, you didn't exactly argue."

"Normally I like to be bought dinner first before someone rips me out of my clothes."

Derek felt a little quirk of a grin grace his lips.

"Noted for next time."

The shade of red that Stiles' face and chest turned were almost enough to draw a laugh from Derek.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPA: Human extremist group that hates Inderlanders.
> 
> The Dewar: Religious and political leaders of the Elven race.

**Author's Note:**

> Some clarification.
> 
> Demons: Different class of magic user that I'll go into in future chapters. NOT the Judeo-Christian or SPN depiction of Demons.  
> Elf: Not a Keebler Elf style elf, or Happy Christmas Elf. They blend in with humans QUITE easily.  
> The Turn: An event (I'll reference it more in story) that lead the varying non-human races coming out of the shadows (collectively they are called Inderland). The Turn took place in the mid to late 1960s and lasted 4 years. 
> 
> Humanity never went to the Moon.


End file.
